Green Eyed Monster
by romeoharvey
Summary: How did Vicky become Timmy's babysitter so easily?
1. Chapter 1

"So, Laurie, tell me why you want to baby sit my son." Interrogated Timmy's mom.

"Well, Mrs. Turner, I'm looking to enhance your son's intelligence and sensitivity." Laurie replied in a smooth, genuine voice.

Frowning, Timmy's mom asked "And how will you go about doing this?"

"Providing him with a loving and nurturing environment. I don't believe in yelling at young children, or depriving them of anything."

"_She's off the list." _"That'll be all for now Laurie, if I've selected you for the position, I'll give you a call." Said Timmy's mom, shoving Laurie out the door.

"What about Mr. Turner? Shouldn't I meet him too?" inquired Laurie just a Timmy's mom was shutting the door.

Leaving it open a crack, Mrs. Turner screeched "He doesn't get a say in it!"

_"I'll never find a suitable baby sitter."_ Mrs. Turner thought gloomily as she walked into the mall. A few years ago her husband would be with her, offering to hold her purse, or buying her whatever she hinted she liked, but not anymore. Now all he does is give into the little brat's every whim... and _tapes_ everything! She's sure the man she married is in there some where, begging her to rid him of the hindrance to their fun (said hindrance being their son).

She had no idea how to get her husband back, until a couple weeks ago, on a dark rainy night her car stalled on the way back from work. As she waited in the dingy phone booth for her husband to come and get her she saw an ad for Stephanie's baby sitting service. It hit her like a ton bricks. Why hadn't she thought of this before? She needed a baby sitter. Just as she was about to dial the last digit to get Stephanie, she saw the rest of the ad: "You'll have the happiest child in all of Dimmsdale." Below that statement was picture. With a rainbow a blue skies background, with a laughing child of about eight years.

No! Her body, soul and mind had screamed. Timmy had wasted years of her life! Years she could have spent enjoying herself. He didn't deserve to be laughing for no reason on a bright, sunny day.

Just thinking about that picture now made her seethe. A little girl noticed, and tugging at her mothers' skirt, she asked "Mommy, what's wrong with that woman? Her face is all red." The young girls mother looked see Mrs. Turner's angry expression and hastily answered her daughter "Nothing, she's just fine.", while she pulled her daughter closer.

As Mrs. Turner was about to begin stalking toward the pair, an explosion of sound caught her attention. At the entrance to the arcade a red-head was pelting trash at a frightened looking raven haired girl. Mostly everyone else was looking on in disapproval, wondering when the little girls mother was going to come save her, but Mrs. Turner was viewing the scene with a joy in her eyes.

There she was, the perfect babysitter for her spoiled rotten little imp.

_If there's anyone out there who would like me to continue with this, please review._

_Also, it should be obvious I don't own Fairly Odd Parents._


	2. Chapter 2

On the day that evil cow, Mrs. Turner, approached me at the mall, I knew that this one meeting would decide weather or not I would go to the good place, or the bad place, when it came my time to leave this existence. She sat across from me, at the table made for two, in the most popular fast food restaurant in the mall, her fake smile not nearly enough to hide the malice in her eyes. She said in a too-sweet-to-be-true voice, "I'm Mrs. Turner, and forgive me for intruding, but I simply must have a word with you."

Nodding cautiously, I introduced myself simply by my first name, "Vicky"

My relatively violent sixteen years had taught me a few skills necessary to survive. Chief among them, the ability to see people for who they really are, not the persona they present to an unsuspecting family, or an ignorant co-worker, or to any god above.

I've seen people who are at their very core superficial beings, who will in the end cause more harm than they are worth, people who are so caring and idealistic, they can physically hurt with every wrong thing that happens in this life, and every personality in between those two. Instantly, in regards to Mrs. Turner, I ruled out the latter.

She proved me correct in suspecting she was the figurative poster child for the former type, when she spoke, "I saw the way you were handling that little twit that was with you earlier. Wherever did you cultivate such skill, my dear?"

Her tone was eager, and immediately I was filled with disgust for this lady, and felt an even deeper revulsion for myself than usual, just because a woman like _her_ thought she could speak to me so candidly. And really, when I thought it over, why wouldn't she speak to me this way, if she indeed had witnessed me blowing up at Tootie, then there was likely no doubt in her mind that I was as evil as her.

At the sight of a frown fighting it's way into her expression, I realized I'd been silent for almost a minute. You have to be careful with strangers, and sometimes even more with an acquaintance, not to anger then unnecessarily. So, in answer to her oh-so-lovely inquiry, I replied with a knowing, indulgent smirk, "Well, my dear, I baby-sit occasionally, and believe me, she's the worst of the bunch."

No need to let this woman know that I've baby-sat only one time, or that Tootie was my sister. After all, I justified to myself for this little white lie, there's no reason for her to insult my little sister, or to ask me how I learned to have a foul temper, as if it's a good thing. Thinking of my sister, I discreetly look over the woman's shoulder, into the arcade, and check to see that Tootie is still playing that racing game she's so avid to get on every time I bring her with me to the mall.

Looking back at Mrs. Turner's face, I see, this time, a wide, genuine smile. "You're a baby-sitter?"

This question, asked with so much hope packed into it, gave me pause. I had been taking care of my little sister for as long as she can remember, but I rarely looked after other children. Most parents seeking baby-sitters would hardly come to a girl who scowled at anyone within ten yards. It's my defense mechanism, so that I don't make fragile connections with fake people, who can later shatter my heart into tiny shards. With these consuming thoughts in my mind, I did not realize I was nodding an affirmative to Mrs. Turner's question, until she asked, "Would you like to baby-sit my son? His name is Timmy, and he's a really bad little twerp."

I was about to say no, and just walk away, this woman reminded me so much of my cruel, sinister mother, that I was about to just get up and walk rapidly away, until she said, "Did I mention I'll be paying you three hundred dollars a week?"

The first thought I had was that I could use that money to buy myself everything my parents wouldn't get for me, which was, well, anything excluding clothes and food. Then I looked at the woman in front of me, and thought that there's no way three hundred dollars can be enough to justify for working for her.

As I got up she said desperately, "Did I say three hundred, I meant five hundred."

All I can say is that my ethics aren't _that_ strong. I sat back down, having no way of knowing I was selling my soul to the devil when I said, "Of course I can baby-sit your little twerp."

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_Thanks for reading, what do you think? I tried to paint Vicky as not too evil, just cynical, did it work? Would you like to read more?_


	3. Chapter 3

"Timmy! Hurry up! If you miss your flight you won't be able to catch another one until next Sunday! I already have the car started!" His father hollered up the stairs.

"Just two more minutes, Dad!" Timmy called out. He had already loaded down their now-ancient station wagon with all of his important stuff, but he needed a moment to sit on his bed and just let the memories of his eighteen years play around him. His relationship with his parents wasn't good enough to justify him coming home for any of the breaks the school year allows, so this will probably be the last time he'll ever be in his room, probably the last time he'll ever be in Dimmsdale.

Sighing, Timmy thought of his relationship with his parents. They had never abused him, but they hadn't exactly been showering him with love. He supposes the best way to describe the relationship was to say that they were just there, or rather that he was just there. He had always had the suspicion that he was just a third wheel for them, when they could already ride a two-wheeler, but were keeping the training wheels on just for the heck of it. Yeah, that's it; it was there home, their life, and he was just the quiet guest, whom they didn't really want or need, but were willing to tolerate because they were kind people. That's what Timmy hypothesized, though in truth, they would always be an enigma to him.

He wasn't sad about leaving this place, there was nothing special in it for him. Sure, he was reasonably popular, and had a few good friends in Chester and A.J., but he's confident he will make the same type of connection with any of his future class mates in college. He'd had a girlfriend in high school, whom he liked a lot, but it wasn't like he was ready to propose or anything.

Timmy smiles, thinking how eight years ago he would have proposed to a girl named Trixie Tang, if there'd been any chance he wouldn't be laughed out of school for doing so. She was his greatest crush, the greatest crush of every boy, and some girls, actually. He frowns as he tries to remember what it was he liked about her, but can't come up with anything. God, was it just for her looks? Yeah, it probably was, but he brushes off the slight feeling of revulsion at himself, thinking that looks are usually the basis for a lot of crushes, and the most likely reason as to why they don't work out if the couple actually does manage get together.

Any further musings are interrupted when his dad yells again, "Timmy, have you decided to live up there?"

"No dad, I'm coming down now." Timmy says, not really caring if he's loud enough for his dad to hear him, as he takes one last glance around the room as he walks out. Just as he reaches the doorway, he spots the it. Deciding that his dad can wait a few more seconds, he walks over the the end table and picks up the empty fishbowl. He can't remember ever having fish, but his mom and dad, and even Vicky, his former baby-sitter, insist that he had two goldfish from age ten on, they had only died in the last couple of years. When he first heard it, he had thought they were all playing a huge prank on him, but there were photos of him with the same fishbowl, and, surprise, it had two odd looking goldfish inside it.

Every sleepless night he stared at the bowl, he felt something in the back of his mind, struggling to get out, it never did, but he made a secret wish every night; that one day he would wake up with memories of these alleged fish. He didn't know why, but he felt that if he could just remember those fish, somehow, someway, his life wouldn't seem so empty. In the morning his rational mind tells him he's going insane, because sometimes, he swears, that just as he's nodding off, he can see lights coming from the castle ornament Giving into his impulse, Timmy grabs the fishbowl before running out of the room and to the waiting car.

Taking the last step he will ever take out of the house, Timmy sees why his dad didn't yell out once again after he said he was coming down; he was talking with his mom and Vicky. It was odd, but Timmy had sort of expected her to be here, and indeed, would have been disappointed had she not shown. After all, it was mostly her tutelage that made him into the person he is today. And since he doesn't hate who he is, he can admit to himself, at least, that he doesn't hate Vicky.

By no means his favorite person, she had in past years become somewhat bearable in her cruelty. Of course that could have something to do with the fact that she had ceased her role as his baby-sitter, so they didn't see each other that much anymore.

Timmy's mom, the first of the small group to spot him, announced his presence to his Dad and Vicky, "Oh, Timmy's here."

"Better go see him now, Vicky." She added as she dragged her husband into the car.

Wondering what exactly she was going to say, Timmy met her halfway. For a moment they just stood there, on the front lawn, looking into each other's eyes, searching, for what, neither of them knew. Timmy finally broke the silence, "So, I guess this is good-bye."

"Yeah, I guess so." Vicky answered, uncharacteristically shuffling her feet. With a start, Timmy suddenly realized that twenty-six year old Vicky wasn't very threatening, certainly not as much as she had seemed to him at sixteen. Maybe it was because he now towered over her, not the other way around? He was halted from thinking about what this new information could mean when Vicky abruptly hugged him. Hesitating only a second, Timmy hugged back. When she let go of him, she paused to look thoughtfully at him, before pulling something out of her pocket and handing it to him. "This is for you."

Taking it, Timmy looked down at the thin, bright white envelope. All it said was to: Timmy, from: Vicky, in black ink. Looking up to say thanks, he saw that Vicky had already left. When his mom hit the horn he stopped trying to look where Vicky may have run off to so quickly, and instead ran over to get in the backseat of the car.

He barely had his feet in before the car took off. Timmy noted his parents talking animately amongst themselves, and as he had always done, tuned them out. Looking at the envelope clutched in his hand, he sloppily ripped it open, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Out fell four one hundred dollar bills. Pocketing the money, he read what little was written on the paper.

_Hey Twerp,_

_Hope you like my going away gift, and good luck on higher education._

_Your friend, Vicky._

_P.S.: If you ever want to talk to someone, you know my phone number._

Folding away the letter and putting it in his pocket, along with the money, Timmy considered what Vicky might have meant with that last line. Looking at the fishbowl that he still hadn't put down, he thought, _"Maybe there is a reason to come back to Dimmsdale..."_

**THE END**

_Green-Eyed Monster – Green-Eyed Monster – Green-Eyed Monster_

_Note: Sorry for taking so long to update, hope this chapter is as enjoyable as the other two, it went throught several rewrites, so I'm not too sure._


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